BWWM Romance: Crossing The Line: Interracial Romance / Wealthy Love Interest (2 page)

Franklin liked movies and not just the ones that made him weep like a baby. He told Shawna all about his passion for film and how he wanted to become a director one day. His current studies were for that too-needed fallback plan.

"There just aren't enough black directors and Spike Lee ain't cuttin' it no more."

"I can agree with that."

The tension seeped out of Shawna's shoulders bit by bit as the conversation swung casually from topic to topic with the same ease as chatter between longtime friends. Franklin's attention never wavered as other women whom Shawna thought were more beautiful walked by, switching their hips and posturing. Franklin's gorgeousness was noticeable from anywhere in the room. His charisma sucked in attention like a vacuum. His good looks and the glances he garnered made Shawna self-conscious and she sat up straight, sucking her belly in. It wasn't every day she had all eyes on her.

"Tell me more about growing up in the country."

"I wouldn't say I grew up in the country exactly," Shawna said, wondering what kind of hick Mikki painted her to be. "Just, you know, the suburbs, but with horses and whatnot. I went to a public school and still had access to running water and an indoor bathroom."

Franklin laughed. "Gotcha."

He licked his lips and Shawna’s attention wavered. The idea of those lips on her neck and collarbone made her reach up to touch her throat. The way he smiled, he knew what he did to women with his eyes that saw into the depths of their souls. His gentle touches to her hands and forearms made Shawna feel like she was the only girl in the world.

Then a woman staggered up to the table, leaning sideways from a few too many drinks. She was wide and not especially pretty, though her face was open and friendly. Her short, silver dress inched dangerously toward her ass as she slapped Franklin hard on the shoulder. Her wobbly legs made her look made out of jelly, yet she managed to keep her martini from splashing over the rim of the glass. Her flattened hair clung to the sides of her forehead and neck.

"Frankie! Frankie, is that you?"

"Uhhh," Franklin stuttered. He shot Shawna a panicked look, searching for any indication that she had been turned off by the sudden appearance of this character. "I'm sorry, have we met?" He laughed nervously.

"Giiiiiiiiirlfriend," she said, leaning toward Shawna, her breath fragrant with alcohol. She staggered and steadied herself with one hand on the back of Shawna’s chair, but still managed to keep her martini glass upright. "This muthafucka right here got the best dick in the world. The whole. Entire. Muthafuckin' world. I would have paid him twice, but he don't take tips."

Shawna's eyes grew wide. She wasn't the type to jump up and demand answers right away, even though the situation demanded it. Long ago, Shawna had learned that it was better to sit back and watch to see what revealed itself.

"Honey, my girl bought me his services for my last birthday and ooooooooh," she cooed and rocked her hips as much as she could without toppling over the table. "But he's expensive. Ain't you? If I could afford him, I would've kept him."

"I don't know what she's talking about," Franklin said.

"I tried other escorts, but they don't fuck."

"Escorts," Shawna repeated quietly.

"Yeah, girl. Don't waste your money on broke dick. Get good dick for good money."

"I think you should leave," Franklin said tightly, after thawing out from shock.

"Oh, sorry," she laughed. "I'm sittin' here spending your dime. Have a good time, sweetie." The woman turned and stumbled back toward the bar.

"I am so . . . I have no clue what just happened there."

"You're an escort?"

"N-n-n-o, well." He didn’t meet her eyes. One hand was skittering across the table.

"You're an escort," Shawna said, taking the napkin out of her lap. Her calm, cool demeanor put Franklin on edge. A loud woman's fury is one thing, but a quiet woman's rage is like an iceberg, where the danger is what one can't see. She stared into Franklin's face until he raised his eyes to hers. She saw a sheen of sweat on his forehead. She sat utterly still, waiting for a response.

"I am allowed to have a private life away from –."

"Not just an escort," Shawna realized, as the woman's slurred words sank in. "But a prostitute."

"No, no. She was never one of my clients. I do not have sex with my – "

"Did Mikki pay you?"

"Shawna . . ."

Shawna pushed back from the table and stood, taking her purse with her. "That was a yes or no question," she said.

Franklin stood to go after her, but Shawna quickly turned to a waiter and told them Franklin was trying to leave without paying the check.

The streets glistened with a spray of rain that disappeared as suddenly as it came. Shawna stormed out onto the sidewalk and made it half way to the parking lot before remembering that Franklin had driven them to the restaurant. She stomped her foot and turned in circles as if the motion would conjure up a good idea. Cabs were expensive for a college student and calling Mikki was definitely out of the question. How dare she buy Shawna a date as if Shawna had nothing better to do than be led on? To make matters worse she had actually felt like opening up to Franklin. She had begun to like him. He made her feel beautiful and charming, but in such a low-key way, she hadn’t been suspicious―or at least not more than usual. He had brushed off her questions about Mikki and she’d bought it. She had allowed thoughts and dreams about the future to lower her guard. Before the drunk woman appeared, she had considered asking him out to an art walk or something else intellectually engaging. Was he really even a biochemistry major? That wasn't exactly dinner conversation.

"I've never been so embarrassed in my life," Shawna said out loud. As she stepped out of her shoes, the cold, wet concrete sent a shock wave up her spine. She danced on her toes until she was used to the sensation. Harvey's wasn't too far a walk from her apartment, and if she were lucky, she'd catch pneumonia and die.

She didn't know what she would say to Mikki when she saw her. Maybe she wouldn’t say anything– just scream. Scream and scream until the other woman’s ears began to bleed. That was a satisfying image.

S
pring was going
to be short, she noted. The snow had disappeared early and never returned. The rains were cold, but not freezing. The trees started budding early and she could already smell the hint of flowers blooming. Summer and its unmerciful heat was just around the corner, racing towards them at a breakneck pace. Shawna pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked at her calendar. Spring break was a blip on her calendar this year as it was swallowed by her projects. She really needed that break. Midterms flew by and now she had to gear up for her final projects.

Shawna stuffed her phone back into her purse as a text message from Mikki popped up on her phone. She couldn't help but read: "What happened? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay," Shawna said to herself. "Who the hell would be okay?"

A yellow taxi pulled up to the curb and the driver leaned out the window. "Hey, miss? Are you Shawna Mills?"

"Yes, but I didn't call a taxi."

"It's alright. A guy at Harvey's sent me to come get you. He already paid."

Perhaps man-whore was too harsh, Shawna thought as she climbed into the backseat. Gentleman-whore. She giggled, thinking of the drunk woman. What a way to get a job reference.

S
hawna refused
to talk to Mikki for the next several weeks. She chose instead to focus on getting her work done early. She poured her anger and frustration into paper after paper until her assignments were complete. Mikki blew up Shawna's phone with text messages and missed calls until Shawna finally blocked her number. By the time her anger defused, classes were over and she realized that she probably should have at least asked Mikki if she knew that Franklin was a gigolo.

Unblocking her phone, Shawna got dressed and decided to head toward where she knew Mikki hung out. If there were apologies to be made, it probably should be done in person. She opened the door and almost tripped over Mikki slipping a perfumed, lavender envelope under her door.

"Hey," Mikki said quietly.

"Hey . . . Would you like to come in?"

"Wanna go out? I could really use a drink."

M
ikki's mouth
fell open as Shawna told her everything about the date, and why she stopped taking Mikki's phone calls. Mikki waved over the bartender and ordered more drinks and a round of small appetizers. "Girl, if my friend set me up with a ho' I wouldn't talk to her either. I'm so sorry. He walked around the foundation for a couple of days looking like a sad sack, but then bounced right back. He's been asking about you and everything, but wouldn't tell me what he did to you."

"Technically, he didn't do anything. . . Am I an asshole?"

"Nah, just spook easily. She really told you he had the best dick in the world?"

"If I could turn colors, Mikki, I would've. She was so happy to see him, I thought she was gonna hike up her skirt and have a seat on his chin."

"He does look like he gives good head," Mikki mused, sipping from her drink. "You might've missed out."

Laughing, Shawna shook her head. "Honestly, I don't know if I really would've cared about his past, but the fact that she came at him like that in public, I mean . . ."

"No, I understand," Mikki said. She reached over and squeezed Shawna's knee. "So . . . Miss I-don't-have-classes-no-more, are you feeling up to another charity event? I promise not to introduce you to anyone, but I need a date."

"Maybe you should ask Franklin if he has any friends doing discounts."

"I deserved that."

S
hawna glared
at Mikki until she abandoned Shawna to perform her duties as assigned by the charity's hostess. Mikki moonlighted as a personal assistant, public relations consultant, and image repairman to various rich and famous people. Mostly she found herself contracted by the offices of politicians. Tonight it was some lawyer who was attempting to bury the news of her drunk-driving arrest and the viral video of her belligerent behavior with ostentatious acts of charity. Shawna was expecting a typical gala, dinner, and/or silent auction. Instead, she sat at a table in a long black evening gown with a low scooping neckline, taking advantage of the ironically generous amounts of champagne and wine while staring at a catwalk stage. The program on her table said that the evening’s events included a date auction. Young men from across the city would auction off one evening of dinner and dancing to the highest bidder.

"You don't have any money," Mikki said before she disappeared on the other side of the curtain. "So you can't bid. You can't be mad at me when you can't even participate."

"You do this to torture me."

"Relax. Have some laughs. I'll be back."

The purse-holding women sidled up to the stage, their bidding fans in hand. Shawna caught clips and phrases of their excited whispers. A few of them gave her flashbacks to the drunk woman from her date as they drank deep and laughed loudly.

The lights dimmed and the women screamed as the MC came on stage with his bow tie undone and lipstick kisses on his cheek and neck. "Ladies," he said sensually and the women grew louder.

Mikki plopped down in her seat and leaned over. "Isn't this a mess?"

Shawna stared wide-eyed at the women, bouncing up and down and giggling like teenagers. The men stepped out one by one, showing themselves off before the official bidding began. That was when he appeared, her admirer from the last charity function. His deep, gray eyes, outlined in dark makeup, landed on her from the moment he stepped through the curtain. His confident strut didn't lose stride or rhythm as he kept his eyes level with hers. Shawna's breath caught in her chest and she ventured a glance over both of her shoulders to see if he were perhaps looking at someone beyond her. No, his eyes were on her. As he lingered at the edge of the catwalk she sat back in her seat and let herself stare.

The men were supposed to forgo evening wear for whatever described their personalities best. The catwalk saw flannel button downs and too-tight jeans, lounge wear and sleep pants, heavy work boots and sports jerseys. The man who stared into Shawna's soul wore a knee-length kilt with a leather jacket and rocker t-shirt. His large black boots echoed loudly on the stage. The volume in the hall lowered considerably, but he didn't seem to notice. The MC had to clear his throat in the mic twice before he turned to leave the stage.

"What was that about?" Mikki asked darkly. "White dudes are so weird."

"Who is that? I know I've seen him before."

"Who . . . that guy? I have no idea." Mikki grew stiff and shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. She hid her face behind her glass and pretended to be interested in the MC's next announcement. Shawna gave a slight shrug and returned her attention to the stage. Ten seconds later, Franklin strolled out wearing the same outfit he wore on their date. Shawna nearly spit wine all over the woman sitting in front of her. Clapping a hand over her own mouth, she couldn't keep the laughter down. Mikki pinched the skin between her eyebrows and sighed.

"Oh my god, I gotta go," Shawna said. "I have to pee!" She laughed her way to the bathroom, keeping her thighs pressed together until she could relieve her bladder.

She decided to skip the bidding part of the auction. The hotel had a beautiful stone balcony and she took a complimentary bottle of water with her outside. The brightest stars dotted the clear, black night sky as the city lights below threw a foggy glow. Shawna leaned against the banister and breathed in the fresh, cool air. Seeing Franklin walk down the auction catwalk was just what she needed to get back to normal and admit how ridiculous everything had been lately. Stress had made her feel like a raging lunatic.

"Aren't you cold?" A deep, unaccented voice said. Shawna turned and saw her goth admirer. He joined her at the railing, towering over her. She smiled slightly and, without meaning to, shivered. Slipping out of his leather jacket, he offered to drape it over Shawna's shoulders. She hesitated. The air didn't really bother her, but it was such a gentlemanly gesture. His woody cologne wafted over her and she felt instantly connected. The right scent could do that to her. She took a deep breath and allowed him to drape the jacket over her shoulders.

"Thank you. Aren't you on the menu . . . up there?"

"Nah. Didn't drum up enough interest. That firefighter, though. Woo."

Shawna laughed and looked down. He stood close to her. Typically, she kept a three-foot personal bubble, but somehow, with this guy, she didn’t mind the nearness. Keeping one hand on the banister, he leaned over her and ran his hand over her dangling silver earring. "Pretty."

"Thanks."

"My name is Virgil."

"I'm --"

"Shawna . . . Yeah, I know. I've been keeping up on you."

"Oh?"

"Not in like a stalker way," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and backing up a little. "I just . . . well…you're gorgeous and I've been building up the courage to come say hi."

"Thank you. It's nice to meet you, Virgil."

"Do you like Italian?"

"Uhhh…"

"Or . . . movies? Art? I'm floundering."

"I'm sorry, I'm just processing that you're asking me out on a date."

Virgil took a deep breath. Color rushed to his cheeks and he lowered his eyes. "I probably should've asked if you're seeing someone―"

"I'm not. It's just . . . surprising."

"Because I'm white?"

"No . . . yes . . . A little."

Shawna wasn't against dating outside her race, but the opportunity had never presented itself. Black men were always the ones who approached her. She wasn't any good at approaching guys herself. There were days when she cursed her passivity, because who knows what kind of opportunities she missed. She had friends who dated outside their race and a lot of them were happy with their partners. This man came at her totally from left field, however, not just because of his race, but stylistically. She was sure that the grunge and goth fashion movement had ended sometime in the mid-2000s, but it suited him. He seemed more comfortable in the kilt and heavy boots than he did in the tuxedo she last saw him in. His innate intimacy made her curious as to what else he had to offer. He invaded her personal space while still respecting her reactions to him. It was hard to know what to make of him. And the way he devoured her form with his eyes told Shawna that there was a lot of sensuality to be had.

"I love Italian food, and movies . . . and art," she said, recovering.

"We'll do all of that and more," he whispered, taking Shawna's hands into his own. She brought her knees together, feeling tingly and wet down below. They’d met only minutes ago, but it felt like more―or not more exactly, it just felt easy. Shawna programmed her information into Virgil's phone and he did the same.

"Shawna!" Mikki called and the two of them jumped. Mikki marched out onto the balcony as Virgil and Shawna exchanged phones again.

"Mikki, this is―"

"It's nice to meet you," Mikki said curtly before dragging Shawna off by her arm.

Shawna stumbled, startled, then stopped, wrenching her arm free. "Ow! That was rude."

"I thought we agreed that you weren't going to hook up with anyone while you were here."

Shawna tilted her head and huffed indignantly. She realized that Virgil's jacket was still draped across her shoulders. She slipped it off and turned to go back. "Wait. This is his."

"Leave it in the lost and found."

"What is your deal?"

"He isn't right for you."

"You don't know him." Shawna wrenched herself free from Mikki's grip. "Excuse me while I return this and apologize for you being an ass."

"Don't worry about it," Virgil said, walking by. "Keep it. I'll pick it and you up Thursday."

"Sounds good," Shawna said.

Virgil smiled at Shawna and gave Mikki a dark look. They watched as he parted the crowd with minimal effort and disappeared through the main entrance.

"You're drunk," Shawna said to Mikki.

"I haven't been drinking."

"You could've fooled the hell out of me." Shawna slipped her arms into the sleeves of the leather jacket and followed Virgil's path out the door. The courtyard was much cooler than the balcony, which probably held heat from the building. Shawna groaned, realizing that once again she had left her ride inside the building. She decided to drive herself to wherever she was going from now on.

A gargantuan, black pickup truck pulled in front of her and Virgil opened the door. "Hey, beautiful! Let's run away!" he called over the roar of the engine. Shawna’s heart raced at his boldness. She stepped up and took Virgil's hand. He pulled her into the seat and she closed the door, sealing off the sounds outside.

"Who in the world needs this much vehicle?"

"Like it?"

"It's . . . huge."

"Let's just say I like it when people get the hell out of my way." Virgil threw the truck in gear and peeled out of the parking lot. Shawna gaped out the window as people came to the front of the hotel to see what was making all the noise. Anger washed over their faces as the thrust of Virgil's engine destroyed the illusion of peace and elegance.

"It's probably too late for Italian," he said, giving her a flirtatious look.

"I could use a burger."

"Burger it is!"

Hard rock boomed through the speakers and Shawna stared at the radio. Feeling her awkwardness, Virgil turned down the volume. "Sorry about that. Not your scene?"

"Not really. I mean . . . it's a new experience."

He gave her a half smile. "I'm all for new experiences."

Virgil rolled past Shawna's apartment. She felt a jolt of anxiety. "Where are we going?"

"Ever have a Forney's burger? You'll never want anything else." Virgil glanced over at Shawna. "I'm not dangerous, if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't thinking that."

"You're a bad liar. That's good to know."

"I probably should've thought twice before just jumping in your truck."

"Well, you were going to do it Thursday night. What's the difference?"

Shawna nodded and relaxed, unfolding herself from her arms to her ankles. He was right. She would've ended up alone with him eventually. Scratching the back of her head, she wondered where the nervousness came from. Was it because of Mikki's reaction to him? Did she know something Shawna didn't?

Virgil slowed down and merged with traffic.

"I'm from Nebraska," he said. "We moved here when I was in middle school. My mom's law firm decided to open a satellite branch and sent her here to look after it. My father jokes that it was their way of getting rid of her. I went to film school for two years before dropping out to go into music. My favorite colors are black and blood red. I like to cut up strawberries into my cereal and I still watch cartoons. There . . . no more stranger-danger."

"I love cartoons," Shawna said, laughing. "And strawberries."

"Oh, well then. Guess who's getting a milkshake?"

They ordered their food via the drive-thru. Shawna sat, wide-eyed, as Virgil ran off a list of menu items into the speaker. He asked her if there was anything she couldn't stand to have on a burger and she shook her head. Virgil drove them further to where the drive-in movie theater was having its first movie of the season. They towered above the other cars and sat level with the jumbo screen. Shawna liked sitting up high.